


A Ghost of Christmas

by crisiskris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Guest appearances by Ron and Hermione, Love in the afterlife, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Severus reflects on his life at the end of the war





	A Ghost of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 Slash Advent Calendar, December 3. Not canon-compliant.

Severus Snape was a tired old man.   He slumped into the darkened chamber of his parlour, pulling off his heavy cloak with leaden hands, shaking the excess rain from it before hanging it up behind the door.  It was winter again; the nights were long and the days were wet and cold.  He was alone.

Severus had outlived everyone that he had ever held dear to his heart, and most of the people he’d loathed as well.  It was ironic really that he should live so long.  The life expectancy associated with his profession – he was thinking of his work as a spy, but really, Potions Masters did not fair that much better – was despairingly short.  Indeed, when Severus had first come to the side of the light, shivering in a rainstorm much like this one, seventeen and skinny and out of hope, he’d not expected to live out the year.  The fact that he had not been killed by aurors upon turning himself in was amazing; outliving the dark lord himself (the first time around) was a miracle.

It hardly felt miraculous now; it did not even feel lucky.  Severus saw his life as a purgatory that he had the misfortune of accidentally being alive for. He had grown old despite the multitude of dangers that continually confronted him, and now he was left with only the haunting memories of those that no longer lived.

It was always worse during the holidays, he mused, lighting the fire and rubbing his hands together for warmth.  As soon as he could feel his fingers, he would allow himself a cup of tea, maybe even cider – one small luxury in the starkness of this night.  For now, though, he stood immobile over the dancing flame, watching without seeing as the orange light warmed the shadows and brought the cluttered room into soft focus.  He was reminiscing again about the war, how long and bitter it had been, how many people had been lost while he continued his charade, the Spy Who Lived.

The expectation had of course been that Harry Potter would graduate from Hogwarts School, defeat Voldemort in some brash, youthfully masculine way, and settle into his new role as everybody’s hero.  Even Dumbledore had fallen for the fairy tale to some extent, blinding himself with the idea that Harry was a savior come to guarantee the victory of the light.  Severus knew better.  There were no guarantees in war.  His cautions had been met with dismissal, even as Harry’s brash moves cost life after life, starting with Sirius Black.

Severus sighed, turning away from the fire and forcing himself to walk over to the tea kettle.  Sirius Black.  Many good people had fallen since the animagus had died, but none was more a tragedy in Severus’s mind.  Although he portrayed an unfeeling monster to the outside world, Severus’s inner most thoughts were governed by the guilt he felt for his participation in the first war – on the wrong side.  When he’d learned, and accepted, that Sirius Black had been wrongfully accused and wrongfully imprisoned, his guilt had only grown.  Severus, a young man then, had embraced a new life full of potential joys and second chances, while Black, also a young man, had withered in Azkaban.  Somehow, Severus knew, it was his fault.  He hadn’t gotten the information about who the real traitor was.  He hadn’t gotten a warning to Albus about the Potters being in danger.  It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t have been able to get away to do so without blowing his cover.  The point was that there may have been a way, and he hadn’t found it.

The tea kettle whistled, breaking through his thoughts, and Severus sighed again.  That was always the way, wasn’t it?  There may have been alternatives, but Severus couldn’t find them.  Others may say that his being alive all these years later, still undiscovered and still able to provide valuable tactical information, showed his worth as a spy, but Severus knew better.  If he’d been good enough, Sirius wouldn’t be dead.  The Potters wouldn’t be dead.  Albus wouldn’t be dead.

The loss of his mentor, one of his only friends, still hit him like a spear in his belly even five years after the fact. It had been Harry Potter’s most spectacular fuck-up to date; ignoring Severus’s advice, the young man had led his woefully under-experienced and outnumbered army straight into an ambush.  It had looked like the end for the Boy Who Lived, except that right when it should have all been over, a saving grace had appeared. Albus Dumbledore, with Minerva McGonagall at his side, saved the children, at the cost of themselves. Severus continued to believe the sacrifice hadn’t been worth it.

He huddled down on his couch, watching the flames and sipping his tea.  Five years had passed and he still felt the impotent anger broiling within him, and beneath it, the guilt, the knowledge that he could have done something, should have done something, but didn’t.  He was too well trained in his role.  Severus was the weasel; the sneak.  He was not the hero.  That was Harry Potter’s job.

With Albus gone, Potter had finally begun to sober up, realizing the seriousness of his position, and the children started listening to Severus when he spoke at the Order of the Phoenix meetings.  Ron Weasley turned out to be a brilliant strategist, and Hermione was an excellent organizer.  Finally allowed to come out from behind the shadow of their celebrity friend, they had proven their worth as war generals, tempering Harry’s blood lust and bravery with their combined intelligence and Severus’s information.  Finally, after years of fighting, they had begun to make some progress.

It seemed strange, then, that Severus should feel so despairing this evening.  It was the first Christmas Eve in a decade that no casualties had been reported from the frontlines.  Hogwarts had even chanced a little celebration.  But even more than war time, the possibility of peace was like a death toll to Severus.  He had already outlived his friends.  If the war ended, he would also outlive his usefulness. 

Severus’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the poof of someone flooing into his fireplace.  “Good evening,” Lucius Malfoy’s intoned as the tall blond man sidestepped the flames and brushed soot off his jacket sleeve.  “I thought you might be sitting here, brooding.”

Severus didn’t bother answering, just waved his hand at the kettle, magically preparing another cup of tea.  Lucius acknowledged the gesture with a nod, took off his jacket, and sat down.  “Couldn’t take the silence?” Severus finally asked.

Lucius laughed a joyless little laugh.  “Your Mr. Potter is a rash young man,” he said by way of reply.

Severus checked a sigh, guiltily thinking that he ought to have checked in with the children before he’d retired.  But they had been doing so well, he’d thought he could finally trust them.  “Who has he gotten killed this time?” Severus’s voice was resigned.  It wasn’t as though it could possibly be someone he cared about at this point; there was no one left.

Lucius’s answer surprised him.  “Voldemort,” he replied.  Severus started and stared at him with wide eyes. “It’s the truth, Severus, I swear it.  The idiot boy got it into his head to launch a surprise attack on the Death Eaters, and the damn thing worked.  The Dark Lord is dead, and the war is over.”

There was a buzzing in Severus’s ears.  It was over.  Unexpectedly. Sooner than he was prepared for.  “Why are you here?” he found himself asking.

Lucius stood, paced a bit around the room before coming to rest before one of Severus’s potions cabinets.  “Actually, I came to borrow something,” he explained.  His delicate fingers plucked a bottle off the top shelf.

“Poison?  Who are you planning to kill?”

Lucius sighed.  “Severus, my wife is dead.  My son is dead.  You and I have been playing at being on both sides for twenty years, but we both know we chose our sides back when we were seventeen – and my side just lost.  What shall I do – die a broken man in Azkaban, unable to remember the way that my son smiled, or the feeling of my beloved’s skin?”

“Take the purple bottle instead,” Severus replied softly.  “It will be easier.”

Lucius’s hands danced like ballerinas as he complied.  “Thank you,” he said at last, turning to face the other man. They stood in silence for a moment, and then Lucius reached for the floo powder.

“Lucius - ” Severus’s voice stopped him.  The blond man half-turned, listening.  “You were my last friend,” The Potions Master finished.

Lucius nodded.  “And you, mine,” he acknowledged.  Then calling for the Malfoy Manner, he stepped into the hearth and disappeared.  Severus was alone.  He put out the fire and magically blocked the floo.  He spelled the doors so that they couldn’t be burst open, and then he walked like a plodding machine to the bedroom, slumping down on the bed, exhausted. 

Lucius was going to kill himself.  Voldemort was dead, and Severus’s career as a spy was over.  The only atonement he had ever been able to find for his sins was finished.  Unlike the first war, Severus felt no joy at this ending.  It was his ending too; he should have never lived to see it.  “Oh, Albus,” he murmured.  “What now?”

He lay down on the bed, shrugging off his boots and staring at the ceiling.  The moon was faint in the sky, painting little silver lines on his roof and walls.  Severus supposed he could kill himself as Lucius planned to do, but he couldn’t find the courage to do it.  All these years, all those times he’d thought about getting out, permanently, just swallowing something and that being that, and he’d never been able to do it.  He was too afraid of the other side, he knew.  He was too afraid that all his hard work wouldn’t have been enough; he secretly believed that punishment awaited him beyond the grave, and as much as he found in hard to bear the thought of living in this hell, he couldn’t bear the thought of finding himself in one permanently, with no chance of redemption, no freedom.

No, he would stay.  He would find some strength within him and help Harry Potter and his friends rebuild.  And he would grow older, and bury Lucius Malfoy and more after him, and see the rise of new evil when he was too weak to stand against it, and die a useless old man.  And until that time, he had a duty to carry out; he had sins to atone for.  Better to just try and sleep; strength for tomorrow would arise in the morning.

Severus really was tired; he drifted off nearly as soon as his eyes closed, his body closing in on it self, clenched in desperation as he slept.

 ***

In his dream, the sky was blue, and there was green grass growing in the fields.  It was warm, and he was walking in his shirt sleeves, away from Hogwarts towards the lake.  It was peaceful and quiet, and he savoured it, letting it wash over him. 

Sitting on the rocks, Severus allowed his mind to be empty, delighting in the sound of the water shaping pebbles lining the shore.  Suddenly, he became aware of a presence beside him.  “Sirius Black?” in his surprise, it came out as a question. 

Sirius smiled and laughed.  “I hope so,” he replied.  “I certainly look like him.”

“What do you want?”

Sirius shook his head, and didn’t reply.  Instead, he commented, “The lake is lovely in the spring.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Severus shut his eyes, blotting out the beauty around him.  “The war is over.”

“Yes Severus.  Your fight is over.”

Severus’s brain was getting thick.  He knew there was significance to Sirius’s words, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. “The children will need someone to help them get the school back on its feet,” he said.  “I suppose that’s a purpose of a kind.”

“It’s not for you to do, Severus,” Sirius’s voice was gentle, lulling.

“But I must do something.”  Severus found him self leaning against something warm and strong.  Belatedly, he realized that it was Sirius, but it was so comforting and safe that he couldn’t bring himself to push away.

“It’s time to let go, Severus,” Sirius was saying now.  Severus felt large hands rubbing lazy circles into his back.  He arched into them, smiling sleepily.

“I never stopped loving you, you know,” he mumbled.  “Even after everything that happened, I loved you.  I loved you when I thought you had betrayed us, and I loved you when I found out that you hadn’t.”    Some resistant part of his mind scolded that he shouldn’t be confessing his feelings to the man who’d responded to his fumbling teenage advances by trying to get him eaten by a werewolf, but he couldn’t help himself.  The words seemed to be pouring out of him, washing out his insides as they left.  “I did wrong by you, Sirius,” he confessed.  “I should have known you weren’t a traitor.  If I’d looked closely at the evidence, I would have seen it.  I should have said something.  I’m sorry.”  The minute the words left his mouth, Severus experienced a tremendous lift within him.  A weight on his soul had suddenly dissipated, and for a second he thought, _‘is this what absolution feels like?’_

There was a soft chuckle in his ear, and Severus felt Sirius pushing the strands of his greasy black hair away from his forehead.  “You’ve got it wrong, Severus,” Sirius whispered.  “ _I_ did wrong by _you_.”  

Severus gaped.  The lightness within him suddenly burst and he was shocked to find tears on his face.  No one, _no one_ had ever acknowledged hurting him before.  The joy was almost too much to bear, too close to pain.  He shuddered, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh, god, Severus,” Sirius’s voice exclaimed.  “I’ve had years to realize my mistakes but I never realized how much I’d hurt you.  Please forgive me?  Please forgive me.”  Severus found himself turned around in the other man’s arms, and suddenly Sirius was showering him with little kisses, kissing his hands as he pulled them down, kissing his tear-stained cheeks, his lips, his eyelids.

Suddenly Severus laughed out loud, the first real laugh he’d ever uttered. “This is it,” he exclaimed, taking Sirius’s head in his hands and pushing back far enough to look into the other man’s eyes. “This is peace.”

Sirius leaned in and kissed him slowly, fully, on the lips.  “This is love,” he gently corrected.  He took the other man’s hand and guided them both to standing.  “Come with me, Severus.  Cross to the other side and be with me.”

“You want me?” Severus asked, surprised. 

“I always did.  I just couldn’t see it,” Sirius confessed in return.  He leaned in and stole another kiss.  “Please come be with me.  You can let go now.” 

After a moment, Severus nodded, and allowed himself to be led into the water.

 ***

Without warning, the wards on his chamber doors came down, and the figures outside practically fell through the doorway.  They rushed to the bedroom, calling Severus’s name.  “Oh god, I knew it!” Hermione’s voice was bitter with tears as she hurried to the bedside, futilely checking Severus’s pale wrist for a pulse.  “I knew something wasn’t right!”  She fluttered around the corpse for a moment, looking panicked.  “We’d better get Harry – Lucius Malfoy was detected in this area, Severus could have been murdered…”

“Hermione, slow down,” her companion replied.  Ron Weasley reached out and pulled the woman away from the body, enfolding her in his arms.  “Just look at him for a moment.”  She complied, confused.  “Look at him.  He’s smiling.  I don’t think he was murdered, Hermione.  I think it was just his time to go.”

Hermione burst into tears. “But I don’t want him to go,” she replied, surprising herself at the vehemence in her voice.  “I don’t want them all to be gone.  Sirius, Albus, Minerva, Hagrid! Ron, they’ve all died now!”  Her crying had steadily become a wail, and she sobbed in his arms. Ron held her firmly, stroking her hair.  She turned and buried her face in his chest, and slowly he settled around her, laying his chin on the top of her head. 

Beyond them, Severus Snape was laid out in his bed, the moon shining down on his porcelain face, thin lips curved up into the most peaceful smile Ron had ever seen him wear.  He knew that smile well.  It was the same little smile he saw on Hermione’s face, when she looked at him with eyes wet with love.  It was the same little smile he’d caught on his own face when he’d been watching her work, admiring her confidence and energy, realizing that this amazing woman was his woman, who loved him.  “Come on, Hermione,” he said softly, still watching Severus’s still form.  “Let’s go home.”

***


End file.
